


Diary

by Holde_Maid



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Other, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 19:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7066381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holde_Maid/pseuds/Holde_Maid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This ficlet was written in answer to a challenge comprising an image of Methos killing an unknown individual - you'll probably find it at HLWW, among pictures of the next Highlander film, "The Source".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diary

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes:  
> The rating "mature content" applies as much as it does to the series itself, as it deals with fighting to the death, and worse.
> 
> \---------------
> 
> Disclaimer:   
> Neither the picture triggering this story, nor the characters or universes of "Highlander: The Series" belong to me. I've no intention of infringing on the owner's rights and if I made any money off this, I'd happily split with them. Alas, I'm not making any.

"What did you expect me to do, MacLeod? Ask you to take the guilt away, and with it my head? My petty little life pales against the thousands of deaths, let alone the centuries of enslaving, torturing, and raping. How could it possibly be enough?" He felt the words hotly, as if they were being etched into his mind.

Of course he had not spoken them. To speak them and invite MacLeod’s understanding would have been the last straw. No. No point in losing the last shred of self-esteem.

Even so he needed to release those words, so he was now writing them into the small diary. His short-term diary.  
Every year he burned the current volume and started a new one. At the end of the year he selected a few choice entries and transferred them into the ancient tome that sat on a little table all by itself. Not as ancient as it purported to be, though, with the hieroglyphs, the rendering of Sumerian cuneiform script, the Greek... Generally, the language of each entry lagged a few centuries behind the time in which it was written. That alone led one to consider the large volume far older than it was. In fact, however, he had had it bound only a few centuries ago. So far, the vellum held up nicely.  
As he caressed the leather binding, the worn surface reminded him of the leather jacket he had worn, when...

MacLeod’s expressive features suddenly filled his mind again. The disappointment in his eyes. The certainty that his friend’s past self had caught up with him. The way his eyes had gone cold and sad at the same time. Reluctant and sorry and stern all at once. A face that made you want to apologize, to explain. So he had turned to go.

Let Duncan find out in his own time why he had killed a mortal. Sooner or later someone would tell him the mortal had threatened to kill Joe. Joe himself had been unconscious, but if Methos was lucky, Duncan would find out.

He stopped writing. For now, there was nothing he could say. He had long lost the right to justify his actions. Even here, in his diary.


End file.
